


Boundaries

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Post Bartlett Administration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-02
Updated: 2011-12-02
Packaged: 2019-05-15 23:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14800160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: "Want? Always. Able? I'm not sure."





	Boundaries

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

  
Author's notes: CJ/Danny, CJ/OMC, Danny/OFC; alternative universe, total fantasy (or is it?)

 

 

Spoilers through end of series; possible spoilers for "Holding Hands on the Way Down"

 

 

Not mine, never were, never will be, but they consume my soul

 

 

 

 

Feedback and criticism always welcomed  


* * *

**Thursday, June 6, 2019; Kensington, CA; 4:45 PM PDT**

"Ouch!"

"I'm sorry, honey."

Paul immediately let go of the hair that he had been trying to gather into a ponytail.

"It's okay, Papa. I know you never hurt on purpose."

As Dansha smiled up at him, Paul looked into the brilliant eyes peeping out from under the thick layer of bangs and once again thanked God for the totally unplanned, totally unexpected, and totally cherished gift of this youngest daughter. Then he once more gathered the dark curls over her left ear to match the one over the right ear and fastened it with a covered rubber band. Then Paul pushed two preformed kelly green bows into the elastics and straightened the shoulders of Dansha's matching T-shirt.

"There! Both my girls are ready for their closeups."

Caitlin was also in kelly green, but her mass of red curls were free flowing just above her shoulders, with one bow on the right side of her head at eye level.

"And here's the male contingent," Paul said as Pat came into the kitchen, his kelly green polo neatly tucked into his chinos, accompanied by Hershey, who was wearing a neckerchief in (what else?) kelly green.

"Papa, how come we need to get our picture taken again? Why can't we use the same one we took for your church back in March?" the young man asked.

"It's a different company," Paul answered. "These companies offer to produce the directories and take the pictures in the hopes of getting the parishioners to buy extra copies. That's where they make their money. And the companies copyright the pictures, so you have to pay to reproduce them."

Paul didn't mention to the children that in addition to that reason, he was pretty sure that at least some of the parishioners at the Catholic parish would have a problem with using the picture from the Disciples of Christ one in the parish directory. Mary Mag was a pretty liberal church in a pretty liberal town, but the sight of Paul in a clerical collar would probably be pushing the envelope a bit too far.

"Can we eat something?" Caitlin asked.

_**The meadow by Rainbow Bridge** _

" _I don't know. Can you?" Danny asked as he watched Pistol and Damian play tug-of-war with a stick._

" _Once a grammar nerd, always a grammar nerd," Alicia sighed._

" _I know. Are you sure you'll be okay here by yourself? Are you sure you don't want to join the others?" Danny asked._

" _I'm sure. Someone should watch out for Jasmine. She's never been a mom before."_

_The men were taking the kids and Pistol on a whitewater adventure and overnight camping trip at the Horsehead Nebula. The other women were over on Venus at the spa, but Alicia was in what passed for a blue funk in heaven and didn't want to be around anyone._

_Jasmine had volunteered to be foster mom to three little puppies who had been born deformed in utero and euthanized at whelping, so Alicia said she would stay back and keep the dog company as Jasmine nursed, bathed, and cuddled the little balls of fur._

" _Okay then. See you tomorrow."_

Paul pulled a container of carrot and celery sticks out of the refrigerator. He decided against the dill/yogurt dip; Murphy's Law predicated that it would surely end up on at least one kid's shirt.

Then he checked the crockpot and its contents, turning it down one notch. With the salad already sitting in the refrigerator, dinner would be ready as soon as they returned home from the picture session.

"I'm going to change my shirt and then we'll be leaving to meet Mama at church," Paul told the children.

Leaving the bedroom, Paul tucked his open-collared shirt into his pants and stopped in the hall to fasten his belt. The children were talking and he remained in the hallway, able to see them but out of their line of sight, as he didn't want to disturb the flow of conversation. Also, it was prudent, sometimes, to eavesdrop, to make sure that nothing was being hidden from CJ and himself.

"Supper smells good," Pat was saying. "I hope I can be a good cook like Papa when I'm bigger. I wish Mama would let me start cooking now."

Paul made a note to start involving Pat more when he was preparing the family meals.

"Mr. Ken, Lindsay's daddy, says men who cook are chicken bit and kitty hit," Dansha opined.

"Huh?" Pat asked.

"No, Dansha," Caitlin helpfully corrected her younger sister. "It's hen-pecked and pussy-whipped!"

Now *that* brought Paul up short. Ken Bryant was one of the fathers at the Montessori school, with a son in Dansha's preschool class and a daughter Caitlin's age, and Paul had been aware of his tendency to be early twentieth century in his attitudes. But Paul had not been aware that the man expressed his opinions so crudely in front of children (either his own or others) and was not too happy about having to figure out how to explain the inappropriateness of the latter phrase to his kids, especially the girls.

"Caitlin!" Pat cried out, "That's a terrible thing to say! Don't ever use those phrases again."

"Why? What's bad about it?"

"Well."

Paul could hear the hesitation in Pat's voice, could almost feel the heat coming from a face that Paul was sure was blushing. Paul sighed to himself. It wasn't right that a boy who just turned 10 would be so knowledgeable, but unless you kept your kids in a cocoon, it was inevitable.

"It's a very mean and ugly way of saying that Mama bosses Papa around. Kind of like when that lady in Tucson called Dansha a 'half-breed' because Mama is white and Papa is black," Pat continued.

"Well, Mama does tell Papa to take his medicine and to go see the doctor and the dentist," Caitlin reasoned.

"But Papa tells Mama to plug in her phone and to lock the car doors," Pat answered.

"They boss each other," Dansha said, "and us."

"But they aren't doing it to be mean, or because one of them thinks they are better than the other, or better than us. They do it because they love each other," Pat told the girls.

"But why does Mr. Ken say 'pussy' when he means a mother?" Caitlin wondered.

Paul was *not* going to put Pat through explaining that. It was something he and CJ would discuss together, how best to handle the issue. Actually, she should take it care of it with the girls. Although he and CJ shared household tasks, there were still some things that were best left to her and some things best left to him. There were still some boundaries that he didn't want to cross.

"Okay, let's all get into the car. I'm sure Mama is waiting for us, already in her green shirt, and you know that she is going to check all of our faces and our hair."

**Later that evening**

Paul panted heavily as he felt the blood rushing toward his groin. Increasing in speed and intensity, he pounded into the warm wetness of his wife's body. His left arm, under her stomach at her hips, held her firm against him as his right hand struggled to maintain the contact she needed to climax with him.

He looked down the slope of her back, at the hips that widened so pleasingly out from her waist. It had been a while since he had seen her like this, on her knees with her butt in the air, her head on the mattress cradled in her arms.

Finally, Paul felt her begin to spasm. Having brought her to her peak, he let himself reach his. The two of them sounded their joy, a cry from her and a grunt from him.

As his breath slowed, Paul wondered why a) she tended to avoid this position and b) knowing that, why he had gently but insistently chosen it this evening.

For the latter, he was pretty sure it had a lot to do with his visceral reaction to what his daughters' classmates' father had implied about men who crossed the old divide between men's work and women's work. Paul felt shame. He had taken out his wounded male ego on CJ's body. It was not the kind of thing he wanted to do.

The first question was more of a puzzlement. Paul didn't think it was because the position was special to CJ and Danny. After all, CJ had shared the "crabbing" one with him. And the sense he got from her was not one of specialness, but of mental discomfort and pain. It had to be something hurtful, it had to be someone who hurt her, between their days at Berkeley in the 1980's and her time with Danny. When he and CJ were together those many years ago, they had tried just about everything in the sex manuals, and although they tended to prefer the more garden variety stuff, he remembered making love with CJ in this manner several times; she had enjoyed it then.

And Alicia had always enjoyed it. She had the most wonderful fanny, and she knew that this position showed her posterior in its best light and he was pretty sure Alicia used it to her advantage. All he had to do was see her kneeling and bending over and he would harden like marble in an instant.

Suddenly, Paul felt his head jerk swiftly to the right.

_"Fuck you, Paul Reeves! Don't you *ever* drag me into bed with you and her again!"_

_Alicia's hand stung from having slapped Paul open-palmed across his left cheek. She wiped away the unexpected tears with the back of her other hand._

_Alicia had never been as angry with Paul as she was right now. If he weren't still joined to CJ, she would have kicked him in the balls._

_Alicia knew, logically, that Paul and CJ were married and that she and Danny were happy for the two of them. She had been aware of the countless times that her husband and Danny's wife had made love with each other over the past five-plus years. And she was well aware of the myriad times that she and Danny had pulled each other into the Swirling Dance._

_She also knew, from what Brianna had told her, that when the time came, that somehow, she would be with Paul and also be with Danny, that Paul would be with her and also be with CJ, that CJ would be with Paul and also be with Danny, and that Danny would be with her and also be with CJ, entwined in the depth of color and light. And that when they weren't united in the Swirling Dance, the four of them would enjoy each other's company the way that Brianna, Jem, and Hugh did._

_But for some reason, when Paul thought of her while he was inside CJ, she was drawn into their relationship more intensely than she had ever been and was fully aware that her man was no longer hers._

_Alicia decided that she needed to get her mind away from Paul and CJ, away from the bedroom in the hills above Berkeley. She heard a laugh, half delight, half wonder and smiled. Then she shifted her focus down the California coast to San Luis Obispo, where Derrick was blowing little kisses on Gina's belly while Natasha was feeding Lish._

As they came down from the height of their respective orgasms, Paul told CJ of the conversation he had overheard earlier in the day. She giggled at Dansha's hilarious mishearing of Ken Bryant's chauvinistic and coarse comments, and the way Caitlin earnestly corrected her little sister with no idea of what she was saying. CJ agreed that although Pat had temporarily defused the issue, it might be wise to talk with her daughters. But she wasn't sure that she should volunteer anything more than absolutely necessary just yet.

"I think the best thing would be to not bring up 'pussy-whipped' unless Caitlin or Dansha does. Instead, just discuss the idea that most things are not specific to either sex, and that there is nothing wrong with a man doing the cooking or a woman fixing the sink," CJ said. Then she sighed in reaction to Paul's thumb caressing the side of her breast. "You want seconds?" She moved her leg up over his genitalia.

"Want? Always. Able? I don't know," Paul answered. He took a deep breath. "I made an appointment with Sid Fleischmann for next week."

CJ took a breath, trying to get her thoughts in order. As close as she was to this man, this husband of hers, this first lover, she knew she needed to tread delicately right now. She knew that this was a new part of their life together and she had to make sure that the boundary did not become a barrier.

"Are you sure that it wasn't just an aberration, two days ago?" CJ asked. "Last night, and just now, I have no complaints."

"But I could sense that you were concerned when it happened, sweetheart. Or, rather, didn't happen," Paul finished with a laugh. "And we just let it slide, as it were, at the time."

"Well, I for one, had some uncertainty, some insecurity. Am I becoming less desirable?"

"You? Never." Paul accentuated his answer with a full mouth and tongue kiss. "As long as both of us are breathing, I'm going to find you desirable. But I am getting older. I've been lucky so far, but if there is a problem, I want to know about it. As I tell the men who come to me, to talk about ED, if God has given us the medical science to help turn wishing into doing, then we should first thank Him and then take advantage of it."

The two of them giggled and settled into sleeping position.

"Sweetheart, one more thing. I'm sorry I got carried away before, trying to make you go into that position."

"It's okay," CJ answered.

Paul turned to look at her face and saw the sweep of emotions – first the pain of some distant memory and then the hurt of realizing that he had seen.

"I'm sorry I can't talk about it, Paul," she whispered.

"Sssh." He put a finger to her lips. "Your past is your past. I just hate seeing you hurt, CJ. If and when you want to tell me, if you need to tell me, I'm here."

**Washington, DC**

John Hoynes sat up in bed, startled.

It was only a dream; it was not that shameful night more than twenty years ago.

But it seemed so real. Too real, he told himself, looking down at the tented sheet, which covered a penis so engorged it was more pain than pleasure.

John flushed in shame as he remembered the dream, and the night that inspired the dream. In essence, it had been rape. No, he didn't force her to his room. No, he didn't force her to have sex with him. And, no he didn't force her to kneel on the bed. But when she resisted his hand pushing down on her shoulders, pushing her head onto the mattress, he had just laughed and pushed harder. In essence, *that* part was rape.

How ironic was it that the man who had helped him to see that his indiscriminate philandering and need sexual power play, was something that he could and should conquer was now married to that woman from the EMILY's list reception?

For nine years, John Hoynes had been faithful to the tall redhead sleeping just eight inches away in the bed. And for nine years, John Hoynes had lived the truth of Paul Reeves' counsel – that being faithful and true to one person brings, in the end, more satisfaction, emotional and physical, than jamming it into multiple willing orifices. With God's grace, John Hoynes had conquered two addictions – alcohol and sex as power – and with that grace, he would continue to do so.

He lay down in the bed and started to turn to his wife, then stopped himself. Over the years, the two of them had become keenly attuned to each other's needs. The pressure of his erection against her derriere would waken her, and she would turn to accept him.

But this arousal, no matter how unconsciously, no matter how unwillingly, was not caused by his love and his desire for Margaret, but by the memories of another woman. To relieve it with her would be, in his relatively new-found sexual ethic, an abomination.

He turned onto his back.

"John Adams. Thomas Jefferson. Aaron Burr. George Clinton. Elbridge Gerry. Daniel Thompkins. John Calhoun."

Reciting the names of his vice-presidential predecessors was a good tactic for deflation.

**San Luis Obispo, CA**

Derrick lowered Lish into her bassinet. He put his finger into her little left hand and watched as she slowly closed her eyes and started the slow, shallow breath of neonatal slumber.

At the sound of a burp, he looked up to see that Natasha had finished nursing Gina, so he walked over and took his other daughter to the changing table, rediapered her, and set her into her bassinet.

"Derrick."

Without looking up, Derrick knew what the tone of Tasha's voice indicated. His wife was one of those women who became incredibly aroused when nursing a child. And, according to the OB-BYN, it was much too soon for the two of them to resume intercourse.

So Derrick left his daughters to their dreams and, smiling, walked to the bed. He kissed Natasha's mouth and then, his hand unsnapping her robe, moved his head between her breasts, and trailed his lips down the length of her body.

_Alicia turned away._

_His smile was Paul's smile. His head was Paul's head. Suddenly, Alicia was reliving that first time, in that hotel room in New York, when Paul's mouth caused her to jerk up from the bed in joy, screaming so loud she was sure the entire floor heard her, not to mention the rooms above and below._

_Emotionally, it was close to incest and Alicia jerked away, trying desperately to keep her thoughts away from earth. "Why the hell? Why me?" she cried in anguish. Suddenly, she felt more alone than she had ever felt, on earth or here. "I wish I were dead!"_

_She shuddered at the realization of what she had said. Can someone get kicked out of heaven?_

_Alicia felt a heaviness in her lap, two touches of wetness, one cold, one warm, on her hand. As Jasmine's nose bumped against Alicia's fingers and the dog's tongue licked her palm, the mental miracle of Rainbow Bridge began._

" _It's okay. They love you and They understand. And I'm here for you."_

_And Alicia was thankful that there was one creature in God's heaven and on God's earth with whom she had no boundaries._


End file.
